Scarytails Can Come True
by Laburnum Steelfang
Summary: Fairytales as retold by Mossflower's vermin to their offspring. Rated T because ... well, have you SEEN the really old fairytales? The really old ones, which still have all the blood and gore. These are all based on real fairytales. Read with lights on ..
1. Little Redtail

_The woodlanders of Mossflower are not the only beasts who tell tales to their young ones. Young rats and stoats and weasels love a story as much as any Abbey-raised mousechild, and so their mothers tell them tales to send them off to sleep and to teach them the ways of the world and their place in it._

_Of course, being vermin, their stories are rather different from those of the Abbeydwellers. And, perhaps, they look something like this ..._

Once there was a pretty little squirrelmaiden, who lived with her mother on the edge of a great wood. Now this little maiden was as slim as a willow withe and fast as an arrow, and her eyes were wide and as green as the leaves of the trees. However, her crowning glory was her bushy tail, with fur as soft as swansdown and the colour of blood in the sunset. And because of this fine fur they called her Little Redtail.

Well, one day her mother heard the news from a little bird of her acquaintance that Little Redtail's grandmother, who lived in the middle of the great wood, was deathly ill. Little Redtail loved her grandmother very much, and offered to carry medicine and food to her. So Redtail's mother packed a basket with healing herbs and the sweet apples that grew upon the tree in which they lived, and gave it to Little Redtail to carry, and made her daughter swear to stay on the path and speak to nobeast, and gave her a sturdy dagger to defend herself if the need arose. And so Little Redtail skipped merrily off down the path, into the deep dark wood.

She had been walking for but half the day, when she ran across a rat. Little Redtail drew her dagger, but the rat knelt before her, showed he was unarmed, and spoke so sweetly to her that she forgot her mother's words.

"Why, such a fair young maid, and yet so fierce! Ah, 'tis understandable, who knows what manner of beast may come crawling from the forest's depths? Fear me not, little maid, I carry no weapon. I am merely a wanderer, alone and starving in the woods these past three moons."

Little Redtail's heart was softened, and she sheathed her blade.

"In that case, sir, you must partake of my food. I have some bread and cheese and cordial for myself, you may take some of that. I am sorry I cannot share the apples. Those are a gift for my poor sick grandmother."

"Ah, how good of you, little maid, to come into the dark woods to visit your grandmother! Where does she live?"

"In the deepest part of the woods, in a little cabin under the great old aspen tree beside the spring."

"Why, that's a long way for a little maid to walk!" cried the rat. "And have you not already been walking all the morn? Remember to stop and rest sometimes, my dear, or you'll collapse with exhaustion before you ever reach your grandmother's home."

"I do feel tired," agreed Little Redtail.

"Then sit down here and rest, little maid," said the rat. "And by the by, there is a fine patch of daisies but a little way west off the path. Mayhap your dear grandmother would like some?"

"Why, yes, sir! What a wonderful idea!" said Redtail, sitting down at the edge of the path. "I shall pick some as soon as I take my rest. I am sure Grandmother will think 'tis worth the wait. Many thanks, kind sir. What is your name, so I may tell my mother and grandmother of your kindness to me?"

"My name is Wolfgrey, and I must be on my way, little maid," said the rat, with a bow. "Good fortune be with you."

And so Wolfgrey the rat went on his way up the path, and Little Redtail sat down beside the path and thought how fortunate she was to have met such a kind fellow.

As soon as he was out of sight, though, Wolfgrey ran as fast as he could into the deep woods, taking every shortcut he knew, towards the great old aspen tree beside the spring. When he found it, he knocked upon the door of the little cabin.

"Who is it?" croaked Grandmother.

"Grandmother, it is I," called out Wolfgrey in his sweetest voice. "I have brought you food."

"Then come in, Little Redtail, come in!" cried Grandmother happily.

"Where is the key, dear Grandmother?"

"Press the knothole in the doorframe, my dear."

So Wolfgrey pressed the knothole, and a tiny door swung open beside the doorframe, and in the little hollow behind it was the key.

So Wolfgrey took the key, and opened the door, and slew Grandmother before she could cry out. He closed the curtains, threw sweet herbs on the fire, drained her blood into an empty flagon, hid her body in the cupboard, changed the bloodstained blanket, and replaced the key. Then he found and put on Grandmother's clean nightgown and cap, and lay in the bed to wait.

Some time after noon Little Redtail, having searched for and plucked the freshest daisies from the little patch, arrived at the door and knocked upon it.

"Is that you, my dear grandchild?" he called in a quavering voice.

"Yes, Grandmother, 'tis Little Redtail," called the maiden. "I bring medicine and sweet apples and a bunch of daisies for you."

"Come in, my darling."

"Where is the key?"

"Press the knothole in the doorframe, my dear."

So Redtail did, took the key, and came into the house with her basket.

"Leave your cloak and shoes by the door and put the basket in the pantry, and bring me the flagon of red wine," called Wolfgrey. Redtail left her basket in the pantry and picked up the flagon, and came into her grandmother's bedroom.

"Come and sit by the bed, my dear," said Wolfgrey, and so Redtail did. "Oh my dear, take off your belt and dagger. Do you not trust your old grandmother?" So Little Redtail took off her belt with the daggersheath and put her weapon down.

"Oh Grandmother, why is it so dark and smoky in here?"

"The darkness is to ease my poor head, my dear, and the smoke is healing herbs to clear my lungs. Here, we shall share the wine."

And so, together, they sipped from the flagon. Little Redtail could smell and taste nothing over the thick herbal smoke from the fire, but she thought she detected a hint of iron in the thick sticky liquid.

"Oh Grandmother, this wine tastes strange."

"Oh, I fear the smoke affects one's sense of smell and taste," said Wolfgrey. Of course it did, but he had burned the herbs to cover up the smell of blood. "And besides, it is a brew made specially to ease my ailments, naturally you will never have had it before."

"Oh Grandmother, this smoke makes me sleepy."

"Then come and lie beside me, dear."

"My, 'tis hot in here, Grandmother."

"Then take off your dress, my dear."

So Little Redtail took off her dress, and lay beside the rat.

"Oh Grandmother, why has the fur gone from your tail?"

"I am old, my dear, and very sick, so my fur began to fall out. Worry not, I know it will never happen to your beautiful tail." The nightcap slipped from his head, showing his ears.

"Oh Grandmother, why are your ears so big and round?"

"I am old, my dear, and going deaf, so my ears grew larger that I may still hear. Worry not, I know it will never happen to your pretty ears." He kissed her cheek, and his teeth scratched her. Redtail held her "grandmother's" paw and felt the sharp claws.

"Oh Grandmother, why are your teeth and claws so sharp?"

"To kill little maidens like you, my dear!" cried Wolfgrey, throwing off his disguise and clutching her to him. "And so you see, my dear, never speak to strangers in the woods!"

And so Wolfgrey the rat slew Little Redtail slowly, drank her blood and ate her heart. And he lived in her grandmother's house forever after.

* * *

**What, you expected a happy ending in a vermin fairytale? Ah, Little Redtail was a raving Sue anyway, she got what was coming to her. This is actually much closer to the original version than the commonly-known one is, at least according to Neil Gaiman's "Sandman". The earlier versions are even more horrible.**

**I hope I got the fairy-tale speaking style right. It's harder than it looks.**

**If anyone can suggest any more favourite fairytales and link me to the old and really gruesome versions, it'd be much appreciated.**


	2. Tom Tit Tot

Once there was an old dog-fox who lived on the banks of the river, along with his daughter, who was the prettiest young vixen that had ever graced the woodlands. Sadly, they were very poor, and belonged to no tribe that could protect them. And the daughter was a pretty beast, but terribly clumsy and too tender-hearted to slay any creature. Her father was terribly shamed by having such a soft-headed child, but he still cared for her as he had sworn to her mother on her deathbed that he would. 

One night, the old fox was out hunting, when he ran across a patrol from a Juska tribe. Now these beasts were all fine and strong and well-trained, and they were not pleased at finding him on their territory. And so they bound him and dragged him before their leader, who was the biggest and strongest dog-fox that ever lived, and wore upon his paws and tail many rings of gold. And the leader demanded to know who the old fox was and how he dared to trespass upon his territory.

"Why, my lord, in my youth I was the best hunter of my day!" lied the old fox. "I see your beasts have been well-trained. In my youth none but the best could have caught me, and I do not feel my skills have faded that much. But my skills are nothing compared to those of my daughter! Never have I seen her lose a quarry! She can use a sword, a spear, a sling ..." He boasted at great length about his daughter's supposed skills, and the Juska leader was intrigued. "And as well as her great hunting abilities, she is the most beautiful maiden to ever grace the woodlands! Why, what a fine mate she would make for you, sir!"

"I would like to meet this daughter of yours, old fellow," said the leader. And the old dog-fox was hopeful, for if the Juska leader wedded his daughter he may be persuaded to allow the old fox into the tribe as well, and if not, at least he would be well rid of his soft-hearted and clumsy daughter.

And so the old fox took him to their little den by the riverbank, and the young vixen came to greet them, and the Juska beasts were all struck dumb by her beauty. But the leader seized her and carried her back to the camp, though she screamed and fought, and tethered her by the leg to a tree.

"At dusk," he said, "I will untie you, give you a sling, and let you wander whither you will until dawn. Bring me back seven young nightingales by dawn. Do not think of attacking me, I will be under heavy guard. Fail to return and I will have my tribe search the woodlands until they find you and drag you back. Fail to bring back the prey, and you suffer a slow and painful death."

So the poor young vixen curled up by the tree and cried, knowing it was hopeless.

At dusk she was untied and given a sling to bring down her prey with. She stumbled through the undergrowth, desperate to get away, making so much noise that she never saw a single bird, for they all flew before she came near them. She came to the river and sat by its banks, wondering if she should throw herself in and be done.

Suddenly she saw the reflection of another creature in the water. She turned, and saw a small slender pitch-black cat with twinkling brimstone-yellow eyes, dancing and skipping like an ember in a fire. He bore no Juska markings, so she asked him who he was and where he came from.

"I tell none my name and I answer to no lord, but I smelled thy fear," said the strange little cat. "Tell me thy troubles, mayhap I can help."

She hurled herself at his footpaws, pouring out her story and begging for help.

"My, that is a problem," he said, laughing and twirling. "But it just so happens that I can fetch thee as many fine fat birds as thou desirest. 'Twill have a price, though, pretty one."

"Anything, sir! Anything!" the vixen wailed.

"What is that pretty trinket round thy neck?" asked the cat.

"This? Nought but painted clay beads, 'twas my mother's necklace ..."

"'Twill suffice as payment this one time," said the cat. "Give me thy sling and wait here."

And so she gave him her sling, and watched him leave. She waited for all the night. Just as she saw that she must soon walk back to the camp, the little cat reappeared, clutching the finest nightingales she had ever seen, and he snatched the beads from her neck. She dropped to her knees and kissed his footpaws in thanks, but he stepped away and vanished into the woods. And so the young vixen returned to the camp, bearing her spoils, and all were astonished at her skill (not least her father).

But her troubles were far from over, for the leader promptly tethered her again, saying "If you can do it once, you can do it again. I want you to go out at dusk again, this time with a fishing spear, and bring me back three full-grown pike by dawn. Return empty-pawed or try to run, and we will track you down and slay you." This time, however, she did not cry; she hoped and hoped that the cat would be there again.

So when she was released, she ran straight down to the place by the river where she had met the strange little cat before, and sure enough he came. She told him what she must do this time, and he agreed to help.

"What wilt thou pay me this time?"

"I have no more ornaments, sir, will you take my belt? It belonged to my dear dead mother."

"'Twill suffice as payment this one time," said the funny little cat. "Give me thy spear and wait here."

And he took the spear, danced down to the riverbank, jumped in, and swam away. As the sun was close to rising, he returned, dragging three pike bigger than himself, strung by the gills on the fishing spear. He dropped them on the bank, plucked away the vixen's belt, and danced merrily away into the woods again. And so the vixen hauled the pike back to the camp - in the nick of time, for they were so heavy they slowed her down. The Juska were all well pleased with her offering, and the leader looked upon her and thought that her father had been right, she would make a fine mate. However, he decided to test her one more time, and so he bound her tighter than ever, telling her that she would be released at dusk again.

"This time, I will give you a sword. Bring me back a full-grown adder! Succeed, and you will become my mate, and rule with me over all this tribe. Fail or try to run, and every beast of the tribe will have their turn at torturing you before I finish you myself!"

This time the vixen was terrified. How could the strange little cat hope to find and slay a deadly snake? Still she remained hopeful, for he had surprised her before.

Once again, as soon as she was freed from her bonds, she ran down to the river and waited for the strange little cat. Soon enough he appeared.

"Why, what is the matter this time?" he asked her. "I smell thy fear stronger than ever."

"This time I must bring back a full-grown adder by dawn!" wailed the vixen. "Even if you can help me, I will suffer. The tribe leader has decided I shall wed him if I succeed! I fear him much, and what shall I do if he ever asks me to hunt with the tribe and you are not there to help me?"

The little cat sat in thought for some time. Then he said "I shall help thee. When I bring back thy prize, wed the tribe leader. He is a fine strong creature, and he keeps his word, and will protect thee well if thou dost obey him. I will follow the tribe, wait for me every night for one season and I will teach thee to hunt as well as any in thy tribe."

The vixen was most thankful and praised the cat greatly, until he said "And what wilt thou pay me for this?" At this a great terror fell upon her, for she had nothing left to pay him with. She swore upon her mother's grave to bring the cat whatever he asked for if only he would help her and be willing to wait for payment.

"Very well," he agreed. "When the seasons turn through one full year from now, I will come back, and take thy most valued possession."

"Of course!" cried the vixen. "Only a fool would value their possessions over their life, and a tribe leader's mate can always find more precious things."

"Wisely said, young vixen, wisely said," said the cat, took the sword from her, and danced away. Just as the sun began to rise he returned, dragging the huge and ugly corpse of a great adder.

So the vixen brought back the serpent, and there was a great celebration in her honour, and the leader took her for his wife there and then. She and her father were given the markings of the tribe, and they settled in. Every night, the vixen crept away from her husband's tent to meet the cat, and he trained her in the ways of hunting. He was as good a teacher as he was a hunter. Soon she could run as fast and creep as silently and shoot as accurately as the best of the tribe's hunters. Sadly, she still would not strike a killing blow, but if she hunted in a group or with her husband she never had to - "I saved this one for you," she would say, and he always accepted. After a season of this, the funny little cat left her to fend for herself among the tribe. She did not love her mate, but few leader's wives ever truly did, and at least he left her unharmed and protected her and her father. And when four seasons from the day she made her bargain with the cat had passed, she gave birth to a healthy male cub, of whom she and her mate were extremely proud.

However, that very day her mate left on a hunting trip alone, and the strange little cat returned that night as she lay in the healer's tent with her newborn.

"I have come for my prize. I believe thou didst agree to give me thy most valued possession," he told her. She reached to give him the beautiful gold necklace her husband had taken from a raid for her, but he said "No, not that." She held out her sword. "No, not that," he said.

Then she glanced for just a second at her sleeping cub.

"Yes, he is thy most valued possession," said the cat, laughing merrily, eyes aglitter.

The vixen screamed and threw herself at his footpaws, pleading with him not to take her child, the only beast left that she truly cared for. She offered all her jewels.

"What are silly trinkets to me over a life?" he told her, laughing hard.

She offered the protection of the tribe.

"Didst thou not hear me on our first meeting? I answer to no lord and I never will!" he said.

She offered to come away with him herself and be his mate, just so she could stay with her child.

"I care not for a mate, and I will not share my prize," he said. "Enough foolishness, give me the cub. Thou canst always have another!"

But she screamed and sobbed and begged and would not let him near the child, and finally he gave in.

"Very well, I shall make thee another bargain," he said. "Thou shalt have three days and nights to guess my name. If thou dost succeed, I will leave and never see thee more. Fail, and I take the cub." And so he vanished.

The vixen was most distressed, but at least now she had a chance. So she thought and thought for all the next day, and made a list of every name she could possibly think of.

At dusk the strange little cat reappeared and said "Tell me my name, pretty one."

And so she started on her list. Was it Blackfur, was it Goldeyes, was it Lightpaw? She asked every name she could think of until her throat was raw, but every time the cat said "No, that is not my name." As the sun finally began to rise, the little cat laughed and said "Two more nights to guess, and then I take thy child!" and vanished like smoke into the forest.

The vixen wept and tore her fur. Once again she tried to think of names. This time she went out and asked every beast in the tribe, and collected an even longer list of names. She told them she was asking for advice on naming her cub, as she could not let her mate know of her bargain with the cat as he would know she had cheated him. She was tired, for she had spent all night awake with the strange little cat, but she forced herself to remember every name she heard.

At dusk the strange little cat came to her again, and again she listed every name she had collected, and again he said to every one "No, that is not my name." At dawn, again, he laughed and stroked the head of her sleeping cub. "One more night to guess, and then I take thy child!" he said, and vanished into the forest. Once again the vixen wept and tore her fur. Her eyes burned with the need to sleep, but once more she had to leave the tent and ask every beast in the tribe if there were any names they had forgotten.

At noon, however, her mate returned with the spoils of his hunt, and demanded that she bring him wine. This she did, and she sat beside him while he drank, clutching her child and trying not to fall asleep.

"I saw the strangest thing on my travels," he said to her. "At sunrise today, I came upon a clearing. In the clearing a strange little cat with pitch-black fur and brimstone-yellow eyes was dancing and laughing, and singing to himself. And what he sang was this;

'The fox's wit avails her not,

She cannot guess the name of Tom Tit Tot.'"

At this the young vixen rejoiced greatly, though she kept it silent lest her husband demand to know the reason.

That dusk, when her husband slept, the little cat came to her again and said "Tell me my name, pretty one."

"Is it Thurstan?" she asked him.

"No, that is not my name."

"Is it Thelonius?"

"No, that is not my name."

"Then is it Tom Tit Tot?"

The cat screamed with rage and stamped on the ground.

"Thou wretched harlot!" he howled, waking every beast in the camp. "Did a devil tell thee?"

The vixen's mate, however, was woken by the shouting. He saw the cat, snatched up his bow and shot the intruder in the footpaw, pinning it to the ground. Tom Tit Tot screamed and cursed at them, and every beast in the tribe came running to look as he pulled and pulled to free his footpaw.

The vixen found herself filled with loathing as she thought of what the cat had tried to do. For the first time in her life, she wanted to kill. She snatched up her sword, leapt forward, and slew him. The tribe cheered for her, and she was well pleased that she was finally worthy of her reputation.

But that is not the end of the story, my dears. For you see, she remembered how her father had treated her, bargaining her away in exchange for his own life, and so she slunk into his tent in the night and slew him as well. And she lived long and happily, she ruled over the tribe herself when her husband was slain soon after, and her son grew up to be a great fighter.

So what is the lesson here, my dears? Well, the first is that even the weakest and silliest-seeming creature may surprise you, so always be on your guard - and worry not too much if you feel you have no skills at something, you can always learn. Second, if you fail, make sure you can take credit for another's work. Third, pretty trinkets are not worth your life. No, really, my dears, they are not. Nice they are, to be sure, but you can always find more, and you only have one life. And last, there is no shame in protecting your family as you would protect yourself. Why, one day you may need them to save you in return! And if you do _not _protect your family, well, be sure you sleep more lightly and run more quickly than they do.

* * *

**This isn't as OOC for a vermin as it looks, I swear. Going by Antigra, at least some vermin mothers are insanely protective of their young, and real-world animals will fight to the death to protect theirs. Even one or two of the fathers seem to care on occasion - Ferahgo cared for Klitch in that he didn't kill him, and Sawney actually seemed to adore his adopted son Tagg until the whole business with Felch. Seems out of place with their attitude to the rest of the world, but whole societies have been built on the idea of "protect your family, screw everyone else" ... At least this explains how they manage to breed. (Other than "quickly and enthusiastically", heehee.)**

**"Tom Tit Tot" is the name given to Rumpelstiltskin's equivalent in an old British version of the story, as opposed to the German Brothers Grimm version. I thought it was more appropriate for a Mossflower story. No sniggering, please.**


	3. SweetRampion

Long ago, there was a young rat and his mate who lived in a hollow tree in the deep woods. They were very happy there, and soon enough the young ratwife found she was expecting a cub. One day while she was with child the young ratwife went outside to fetch water from the stream. As she walked, she came upon a neat little garden, in which there was a patch of sweet rampion. Now, as is the way of females with cub, she was overcome with longing to taste the sweet plants. She fell to her knees, tore up a bunch of rampion, and began to devour it.

To her horror, a shadow fell over her. She looked up to see an old vixen standing over her, brandishing a knife. She knew by the stranger's garb that she was a Seer, and her heart quailed.

"Those plants belong to me!" snarled the Seer. "How dare thee trespass upon my land! A curse shall be upon thy foolish head for this!"

The young wife threw herself down in the dirt and grovelled at the hag's footpaws. "Oh, forgive me, my lady. I realised not that this was thy garden! I carry a babe in my belly and I was overcome with my cravings."

"Very well," said the old witch grudgingly. "Take as much as thou wilt, but when thy child is born I shall come and take it for mine own! I swear I shall care for it as if 'twere mine, for I never bore a kit myself and I long for company."

The young ratwife thought this was a very fine deal - after all, she could always have another child - and so she agreed. And soon enough she bore a fine healthy she-cub with strong sharp teeth and the longest thickest tail you ever did see. Yes, my dears, longer even than that of Cluny the Scourge. And the Seer came in the night as she had sworn, and took the cub away.

No, my dears, I don't know what happened to the babe's parents, my mother never told me that part. Perhaps they lived happily ever after and had more cubs, or perhaps the rat slew his wife for selling their child in exchange for a mouthful of greenstuff. Nobeast knows, but this is not really their story, is it?

The Seer took the little maid away and kept her in her hut beside the little garden, and she named the little maid Sweet-Rampion, after the plant for which her mother had sacrificed her child. Sweet-Rampion grew up over the seasons until she was tall and strong and very beautiful, but there was one thing odd about her. Her tail grew, and grew, and grew longer still, until she could trail it in the river without stepping out of the hut, and still it grew some more!

Now the Seer was a very jealous old witch, and she could not stand that Sweet-Rampion was growing up to be more beautiful than she had ever been as a maid - yes, Seers were young once too, my dears. Why, you could grow up to be one if you like, and tell the fortunes of the warlords. Yes, males can be Seers too if they try very hard, my little lad. But back to my tale, or rather Sweet-Rampion's tail, if you'll excuse the joke. The Seer was very jealous of her little prize, but she loved her like the cub she never had and did not want to kill her. So she decided to keep her shut away where nobeast could ever see her and marvel at her. So when the little maid reached her teen-seasons, the Seer found a very tall tree - the tallest tree in all the woodlands! - with a smooth straight trunk with very hard smooth bark, that not even a squirrel could climb straight up. She climbed up the tree nearest to it until she could reach the few strong branches at the very top, then she climbed those, and built a little hut on the very top branches, and took Sweet-Rampion up the tree and left her there. And she chopped down the tree she had climbed up, so nobeast could get up there again.

Of course Sweet-Rampion was not happy at all living in the treetop. Treetops are places for silly birds and squirrels, not for rats. So she would sit and pass the time by singing to herself. She sang beautifully; so beautifully that little birds would fly up to hear her. The Seer was proud of her, for this meant they never lacked meat.

Of course the Seer had to get up the tree to catch these birds, but she found a way to get up. Every day she stood at the roots of the big tree, and called out "Sweet-Rampion, let down your tail." And the little rat would let down her tail, which was ever so long and strong by now, until the very tip brushed the ground. And the Seer would use it to help pull herself up. Isn't that clever? And she would usually bring bread and fruit for Sweet-Rampion, for she still cared for the little maid, especially now there was no other beast to look upon her and compare them.

Anyway, one day a brave young warriormouse was wandering through the woods nearby - yes, my dears, a fine strong young mouse he was, and he carried a great sword upon his back. What a vile creature, indeed. No, my dears, don't cry, the nasty mouse isn't here. But anyway, he was wandering through the woods, and Sweet-Rampion was sitting in her little treetop home, singing as usual, and of course the horrid little mouse heard her. So he followed the sound until he came to the roots of the very big tree. He walked all around it, but could find no way to climb up.

Suddenly he heard a rustling in the bushes, and ran to hide nearby. He watched as the Seer appeared, and she called out "Sweet-Rampion, let down your tail!" And my, but wasn't he surprised when the end of a long, long, long tail fell down from the tree, and the Seer used it to pull herself up. So he waited and waited until sunset, when the Seer came back down the tree with her strange climbing rope, and he waited until she was gone, and then he ran up to the tree and shouted - say it with me, dears - "Sweet-Rampion, let down your tail!" And down came the tail, and up went the mouse!

Now Sweet-Rampion was very surprised to hear a stranger's voice calling her, but she was very curious too, and so she let her tail down. She was also surprised by how light the newcomer was - much lighter than the old Seer. And when he came up into her little hut, oh my! She was a little scared, for you see, my dears, she had never seen a mouse before. Well, except once or twice on a spit over the fire. But he spoke very prettily to her, and he made no move to draw the great sword upon his back. He told her how beautiful he found her singing and her face, and soon they both forgot that she was a rat and he was a mouse, and swore to be joined as mates.

The warriormouse begged Sweet-Rampion to come away with him, but she was afraid of the Seer's vengeance. For several days he visited her every sundown after the Seer had left, and begged her to leave with him, and every time she refused. But little by little he wore away her resistance, and she finally decided to flee with him.

"Yes," she said. "I have tarried here too long - and what do I care for the Seer? The old witch claims to love me, and yet she shut me up here! I shall flee and be free with one who truly cares for me! But how am I to get down? I could tie my tail to a branch and climb down it that way, but I cannot untie my tail from the top of the tree when I am at the bottom! No, you must bring me some long strong ropes, and I shall weave them together into one rope long enough to reach the ground."

Each day the warriormouse brought a rope, and each day Sweet-Rampion unfastened the ends of each rope and wove them tightly into the next one, making one long rope. The tree was so very high that even with the biggest ropes the mouse could bring, it would take a score of them to reach the ground.

On the thirteenth day, the old Seer came to visit and noticed that Sweet-Rampion had been looking ill, and asked her if she was sick.

"I do feel strange, my lady," said Sweet-Rampion. "Why has my dress been getting so much tighter?"

The Seer's eyes widened in horror as she sniffed and realised the truth. Yes, dears; the silly ratmaid was fat with the mouse's cubs.

"Oh, thou wicked little rodent!" she snarled. "I raise thee, I keep thee safe here, and this is how I am repaid? Well, my dear, thou hast failed in thine attempts to outfox this fox!"

And with those words the Seer took Sweet-Rampion's long lovely tail in her paws and tore it straight off. The silly little rat shrieked and fainted dead away. The Seer tied the bleeding severed tail to a hook by the door of the little treehouse and waited for the mouse to come. And come he did, of course, but instead of Sweet-Rampion he found the old Seer, waiting for him.

"Aha! So not only does my little maid deceive me, she deigned to mate with thee? A lowly mouse?" snarled the old vixen. "Go, begone from here!" With that, she leapt at him, and in his terror he jumped from the tree and landed in a thorn bush, which broke his fall without breaking all his bones, but the thorns stuck him all over and pierced the eyes from his silly little head.

And so Sweet-Rampion and her warrior both bled to death, her from her tail-stump and him from the thorn-wounds, and the Seer took them and made a fine stew of them. Which only served them right for getting silly ideas. Rats and mice must never mix, dears; vermin we are, and vermin we shall stay, however many stupid little mice try to drag us off with them!

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**"Sweet Rampion" was the name given to Rapunzel in one version of the story I heard. I figured it was more appropriate for Mossflower than the possibly-German "Rapunzel". The pregnancy being the sign of what was going on is from older versions of the story - it's both more appropriate for vermin and more likely than the heroine just blurting it out, like most versions have her do. Mice and rats cannot in fact interbreed - different genuses, their genetic patterns are just slightly too different - but hey, it's a fairytale.**

**And the ending is because I'm so damn bitter about all the fluffy-wuffy ky00t reformed vermin in fic, I admit it. (C'mon, it's not like the Abbeydwellers haven't canonically TRIED to be nice to them and have the vermin cause their attempts to fail miserably.) Gave me some problems, I thought it might be too abrupt, but since this is effectively parody that's not too much of a problem.**


	4. Frostbite

**WARNING: This one is even more gross than the others. Not graphic, but if you know the old version of "Snow White" you'll know how bad it is when you step back and actually look at it. Vermin are just a little more honest about the squick. Tread carefully.**

**BTW, anonymous reviews are switched back on now I've managed to get the spammer dealt with and ffnet has put settings in place to limit the number of anon reviews that can be sent per fic in case he comes back.**

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Once there was a king fox, who was strong and powerful and feared throughout the land, and his queen, who was beautiful and cunning and crueller even than her king, and they lived with their many followers in a mighty fortress on a mountain near the edge of a great wood.

One day in midwinter, the queen went up to her tower room to find a rat stealing her favourite jet necklace from her jewellery box. In a great rage, she picked him up and flung him out of the window, watching as he fell screaming to his death in the snow below. She ran down the stairs and outside to take back her necklace from the deadbeast's paw, and looked at the blood steaming on the snow. She thought it a very beautiful sight, and said to herself "Oh, if I have a cub, I wish it could have fur as red as blood, as white as snow, and as black as jet."

Soon after this, she found she was indeed with cub, and when she gave birth, she had a fine little vixen-cub. And the cub's fur was as red as blood on top, as white as snow on her belly, and as black as jet on her paws and the tip of her tail. Now doesn't that sound so pretty? And because her teeth were also white as snow and sharp as frost, they named her Frostbite.

Now, the queen was very beautiful and very cunning, as I said, and she was terribly vain as well. When she was young, a dying Seer had put all her powers into a magical mirror, made of silver and glass with an ebony frame, which the queen had taken from the corpse's paw for herself. She hung this mirror on the wall of her chamber, and every full moon she asked it;

"Mirror, mirror, on the wall,  
Who is the finest fox of all?"

And every day the mirror would answer in the dead Seer's voice; "You are."

But the queen grew slowly older and weaker as the seasons passed, and Frostbite grew up. Even when she was but a cub, they could tell she would be tall and strong and beautiful. And on the very day Frostbite turned seven seasons old, the queen went to her mirror and asked it;

"Mirror, mirror on the wall,  
Who is the finest fox of all?"

And the mirror answered; "Frostbite."

The queen was livid with rage, and vowed to have her daughter slain. She would have done it immediately, but she did not want to leave any chance that her mate would find that it was she who killed their daughter, so she found the best and strongest of the young soldiers and took him in secret to her chamber.

"Thou shalt slay Frostbite," she told him, "and bring me back her heart."

So the soldier took the cub into the woods, away from any other beast who could hear her screams, and took his knife to slay her. But Frostbite was quick, and when he picked her up she bit off three of his claws and fled. The young soldier was afraid, for his death would be slow if the queen knew he had failed her, so he captured a young badger and tore out her heart for the queen instead. The queen took the heart and howled with glee, and ate it there and then in front of him.

Frostbite ran for many days, deep into the woods, into the dark places where the trees blocked out the sun, until she fell into a tunnel. Down she tumbled, until she landed in front of a little door. It was locked, but she carried a sharp needle in her belt, so she picked the lock with it and sneaked in. Inside she found seven little chairs around a cosy fireplace, and a table with seven places set, and seven little beds. She was hungry, so she devoured as much of the food as her belly could hold, and slept on the rug because the little beds were too small for her.

Soon the seven little moles who lived in the hole came home, and were much afeared to find their food gone and a fox sleeping on their floor. But they saw she was but a little cub, and how very pretty she was, and they vowed to keep her and protect her. And you know how foolish woodlanders are, my dears. She could have been clutching a severed head, and they would have done no more than beg her not to let the blood stain her lovely pelt. When she woke up, she was surprised to see seven little moles standing over her, and would have attacked them, but they calmed her with candied chestnuts and asked her to tell them her story, which she did. They were shocked, and told her to stay with them where she would be safe from the wicked queen.

But of course, they did not know about the magical mirror, and soon enough full moon came round again and the queen went to ask her question again.

"Mirror, mirror on the wall,  
Who is the finest fox of all?"

And the mirror answered "Frostbite."

And so the queen knew that the soldier had deceived her. She brought him to her chamber and tore him to pieces, then set about thinking how to dispose of Frostbite.

"Mirror, where is she?"

"In the home of seven moles, beyond the forest."

"Mirror, how shall I slay her?"

"Use thy cunning."

So the queen rubbed ashes in her beautiful fur and dressed like a pedlar, and travelled beyond the forest to the home of the seven moles. She watched and waited as the seven moles left their hole in the morning, and saw Frostbite wave them goodbye. Once the moles were gone, the queen took a basket with all sorts of pretty things in it, hobbled towards the hole, and knocked on a log beside it.

"Who knocks?" called Frostbite.

"An old pedlar vixen, with pretty things to sell," croaked the queen. "Perhaps thou wouldst like some beads, a scarf, or perhaps a dagger?"

Now Frostbite was clever and cunning, as all foxes should be, but you must remember, my dears, she was only a cub. She ran out to see the pretty daggers.

"Why, a dagger's no use without a belt to put the sheath on!" said the queen. "Here, try on this one."

She wrapped a belt around Frostbite's waist, and pulled it so tight that the poor cub could not breathe, and fell down in a faint. The queen was sure she would choke before anybeast came to help her, and travelled back to the castle, laughing as she went. But one of the seven little moles had forgotten his hat, and came back to the hole to get it, only to find poor little Frostbite lying on the floor like a corpse. He undid the belt and let the breath back into her, and when she was sitting up again he told her never to open the door to a stranger again.

Meanwhile, the queen arrived back at the castle, and went to her mirror.

"Mirror, mirror on the wall,  
Who is the finest fox of all?"

And the mirror answered "Frostbite."

Once again, the queen was enraged, as she discovered her failure, and vowed again to slay her child. Again, she rubbed ashes in her fur and dressed like a pedlar, and took a basket of pretty things to the moles' home, and knocked on the log.

"Who knocks?"

"Only a poor old pedlar, my dear. Wilt thou buy something?"

"I was told never to leave the hole to talk to strangers, ma'am."

"Then do not leave the hole, but open the door and lean out to see," said the queen. "Wouldst thou like a bracelet, a tail-band, a ring? Here, I have a pretty comb!"

Frostbite opened the door and peered out as the queen held up the comb. She nodded, and allowed the "old pedlar" to entwine it in her fur. But the tips of the comb were poisoned, and the queen drove it into Frostbite's skin and fled, leaving the poor cub writhing on the floor, her life ebbing away.

But, once again, one of the moles came home early, this time to see that Frostbite was well and obeying his orders. He found her on the floor, took the comb from her fur, and gave her an antidote to the poison. When she woke up, he rebuked her for disobeying, and told her to always lock the door and never talk to strangers.

The queen arrived back at the castle and went to her mirror again.

"Mirror, mirror on the wall,  
Who is the finest fox of all?"

And the mirror answered "Frostbite."

The queen screamed with rage and would have smashed the mirror if her vanity had permitted its destruction (besides, she could ruin her pretty paws that way). She thought, and thought, and thought some more, and finally came up with a perfect plan. She asked the mirror for a recipe for a most potent sleeping draught, which would make the drinker appear to allbeast's eyes and noses to be dead. She made up this potion, and dipped a sweet blood-red apple in it. She dressed herself up again, this time in the rags and ribbons of a Seer, and went once again to the moles' home.

"Who knocks?"

"A Seer, my dear!" cried the queen in eerie tones. "Come out and I shall tell thy fortune, bless thee with good luck, or curse thine enemies, as thou wishest."

"I was told never to open the door to a stranger, ma'am."

"Why, knowst thou not that 'tis grave misfortune to defy a Seer? I shall not harm thee! Come out, and see what a great treasure I have here!"

Frostbite opened the door, curiously. She had grown prettier every day, and the queen was filled with rage to see her, but she smiled and showed her the beautiful apple.

"One bite of this, and thou wilt never suffer pain or misfortune again," said the queen (thinking, of course, that it was true, as Frostbite would sleep until she died). "Thou mayst take it for free, and welcome, for thou art so beautiful thou art the only one who could possibly deserve it."

Poor little Frostbite was taken in by the queen's pretty words, took the apple, and bit into it. No sooner had her fangs met through the sweet flesh of the fruit than she fell down like one dead. The queen checked her over and found no signs of life, no breathing, no heartbeat. The queen laughed and laughed and ran back to the castle, singing all the way, sure that Frostbite would now be buried or burned alive. And when she asked her mirror who was the finest fox of all, it answered "You are."

When the seven little moles came home, they found Frostbite lying dead. They wept over the sad little dead thing for three days and nights. They could not bear to bury or burn her, for she did not decay and remained as beautiful as ever. So they laid her out on a bed of soft leaves in a clearing, and guarded her day and night as all the birds and beasts of the woodland came by to marvel at the poor little dead fox. "She may be vermin," they said, "but she was so young and fair, 'tis such a shame." Seasons passed this way, with Frostbite's body remaining as fresh as it had ever been. And, magically, she grew older as time passed, until she was a fine healthy maiden, more beautiful than ever before, though never once did she stir from her deathly trance.

One day, a roving Juska tribe found the clearing. Ecstatic at the sight of so many preybeasts in one area, they gleefully slaughtered the lot. As the tribe were starting fires to roast their feast of mole-meat, the chieftain looked upon Frostbite's body. The chieftain of this tribe was a big strong young dog-fox, a great fighter, but had never taken a mate, for he had seen nobeast worthy of him until this moment. But he looked upon Frostbite, so still and cold and fair, and knew that he must take her for his own. He bent down and lifted her up to bring her to his bed, but as he lifted her the piece of bewitched apple in her throat was knocked loose and fell from her mouth, and the spell was broken. She stirred in his paws, and opened her eyes.

The tribesbeasts were overjoyed that their leader now had a mate, and he declared that he and Frostbite would be wedded as soon as possible. During the celebrations, she took him aside to talk.

"My lord, may I make one request before we wed?"

"Anything, my beautiful one."

Frostbite told the chieftain the whole story of her life, and how her mother the queen had tried to slay her, and begged him to help her take vengeance. He agreed with a will, and the tribe set out straight away for the castle. Frostbite could recall all the entrances and secret passages from when she had lived there as a cub, so they could slip in without being seen, and the castle was taken from the inside. The murderous queen was captured, and as punishment for her treatment of her daughter, the chieftain had a pair of iron shoes made and heated white-hot, and the queen was forced to dance in them until she died.

And did Frostbite live happily ever after with her new husband? Well, she did, but not with him, my dears, oh no. As he slept on the night after they were wed, she took his own dagger and slit his throat. Well, why should she let him live? He had slain her friends, even if they were only moles, and would have misused her body as she lay asleep! And she'd had a long time to think while in her magical sleep, my dears, and she'd vowed never to trust anybeast again.

So Frostbite became queen and leader of the Juska tribe into the bargain, and ruled wisely and well, with a little advice now and then from her mother's magical mirror ... although she would never again allow the tribe to eat the flesh of moles.

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**Yay for childrens' fiction involving attempted infanticide, cannibalism, and necrophilia! Look, it could have been infinitely worse, because I'm a fan of Neil Gaiman's "Snow, Glass, Apples" - Google it and prepare for a sleepless night. I did allow her to age while comatose, since I think even most of Mossflower's vermin would draw the line at glorifying child-molestation in front of their offspring, and as I quote from the website Cracked(DOT)com (insert punctuation as appropriate thanks to ffnet's screwy formatting); _"The Grimms explicitly refer to Snow White as being seven years old when the story starts, and while there's no firm indication of how much time has passed, it's no more than a couple of years. So, unless that's an eight-year-old Prince Charming who comes along and rescues Snow, we're backing away from this one before we become the subject of an NBC reality show."_ See? See? The squick in these is not all down to MY twisted imagination!**

**Think I might pick a more obscure one for the next installment. Does anyone else know "King Lindorm"? Fairytale striptease scenes for the win.**


	5. Bride of the Serpent King

Once there was a great ferret queen who lived in a beautiful castle in the middle of a deep forest and ruled over lands which spread as far as the eye could see. She had many strong soldiers and many loyal servants, but she was unhappy because she had no kits of her own. She had thirteen husbands, one by one, and all were strong and handsome, but still she had no kits, and so every one of her husbands was slain for their failure.

One fine spring day, her sadness became too much, and the old fox Seer came upon the ferret queen crying in her room.

"What ails you, my queen?" asked the wily old vixen.

"I wish for kits of my own," said the queen.

"Well, that's easily done," said the old vixen, and took two fat red onions from beneath her cloak. "Simply peel these and eat them, and you shall bear two fine sons." And with a smile, the old vixen went on her way.

The queen was so happy she forgot the Seer's instructions and devoured the first onion straight off, skin and all. Of course it tasted terrible, so she laughed at her foolishness and carefully peeled the other.

Forty-two days went by - oh, such long days they were for the queen! As the Seer had said, she did indeed swell with what she thought must be two fine fat cubs. And on the forty-second day, as is the way of things with ferrets, the birth began. Oh, the queen felt such pain, but she was so happy she did not care, for now her wish was fulfilled! But as she lay upon her bed and her firstborn slipped from her, the pawmaiden who attended the birthing screamed and fled from the room. The queen looked down to see that she had birthed not a cub at all, but a hideous serpent!

Now this was quite a fright, as you may imagine, but a queen does not become so by cowardice. So even as the pains of the second birth seized her belly, the queen took up the serpent in her paws and flung it straight from the tower window, into the forest! The queen watched in fear as her second child was born, but much to her relief, this one was a fine ferret lad, perfectly normal in every way, though perhaps fitter and fairer than most. So the queen brought the little prince out and showed him to her soldiers and servants, and put out the tale that her firstborn had died.

Seasons passed, and the little prince grew into a fine handsome ferret, brave and bold. One day, he went out to hunt for little birds, and came upon a trail in the forest. Being bold but not too bright, he followed it alone, and before he knew it he found himself face to face with a hideous serpent, as tall as a tree and with fangs as long and sharp as swords! The prince drew his own sword, but the serpent spoke to him.

"I know who you are, little prince," it said, "and I would ask your help. Bring me a bride."

The prince nearly dropped his sword, but said to the serpent "Why should I do such a thing for a monster like you?"

"Because, little prince, you are cursed, and you will never find a bride of your own until I wed."

The prince, greatly surprised, brought the serpent with him to the castle, much to his mother's fright, for she recognised her firstborn right away. But she hid her fright when the serpent swore he meant no harm, and neither he nor she told anybeast who he was. The serpent took over the tower room in which he and the prince had been born, and demanded a bride be brought to him.

The queen and prince considered the matter, and decided to send up a slave, to see what the serpent might do. So a mousemaid was selected from the slave pens and sent up to the tower room that very night. But the very next morning, the guards found that the serpent had torn the mousemaid limb from limb. So a squirrelmaid was selected instead, and sent up the next night, but once again the serpent slew her. The next night, an ottermaid was taken, and she was slain in turn. The serpent became angrier, and the queen and prince more fearful.

Now of course the servants and soldiers gossiped about the happenings - there's none like soldiers for gossip, they're worse than old ratwives. And one particular young soldier, a female ferret, heard about it. This ferretmaid was the prettiest of all the young females in the castle, but she had no close friends and was well known for having a terrible temper. So when the lads and lasses in the mess hall talked about the serpent and his desire for a bride, they soon turned to mocking her. They teased and tormented her, saying a beast so pretty would be sure to please the monster, and she'd never find a better mate for her temper scared off every other male. Of course this made her very angry, and before she knew it she screamed out to the whole hall that she'd wed the monster, aye, and battle him to the death if she displeased him. And the queen heard this, and told the ferretmaid that she'd be able to prove her boast that very night.

The maid sorely regretted her rash words, and ran out into the forest, hoping to escape her fate. But soon enough she came upon the little hut where dwelt the old vixen Seer who had given the queen the onions. And a great stroke of luck this was, my dears! For the old vixen took her in and gave her nettle wine, and listened to her story. And when the maid was done, the old vixen told her, "Fear not, my pretty; you'll be happily wed, if you but do as I say." And the old vixen told the maid what must be done.

That night, the ferretmaid returned to the castle. She was bathed and brushed and dressed up like a doll, in the hopes she'd please the serpent. She walked up the tower stairs, fearful but hopeful, with two guards and seven slaves carrying buckets of water and a big wooden tub. Into the room they went; a fine room it was, with a great curtained bed and a roaring fire. The first bucket of water went into the big black pot on the fire, and the guards and slaves left the ferretmaid alone in the room. As she stood there, shaking in the pretty silk slippers of her bridal outfit, she saw the great coils around the room; the serpent was so huge his coils wound around the room seven times! And the curtains on the bed were pushed aside, and the soldier maid came face to face with the monstrous serpent. And the serpent said "Madam, take off your veil."

Now the Seer had told the soldier maid what to do, so she took her veil off. Next, she poured the pot of hot water into the great wooden tub, and filled up the pot with the next bucket of water. Then she stood up straight and looked the monster in the eye, and said "Serpent, take off your skin!"

The serpent looked at her with great surprise, and said "None of the other brides asked me such a thing."

"But I ask it of you now," said the soldier maid.

"Very well," said the serpent, and rubbed himself on the wall until his skin split and peeled away, as is the way of snakes. The skin was green as emeralds, and very thick and stiff, but it came off soon enough, leaving the great serpent rather smaller as the skin had been so very thick. In fact, he was now so much smaller, he only wound around the room six times now! He looked the maid in the eye and said "Madam, take off your shoes."

The bold young maid kicked off her slippers, poured the next pot of water into the tub, and said "Serpent, take off your skin!"

And so this went on, with the maid slowly filling up the tub and removing one by one her stockings, her skirt, her tunic, her petticoat, and her shift, until she stood before the serpent in only her fur, and his great coils were so shrunk that when he coiled around the walls his nose barely touched his tail. And for the seventh and final time, the maid said "Serpent, take off your skin!" And so, for the seventh and final time, the serpent rubbed away his skin, and all that was left when it came away was his bare red flesh. And the maid took him in her paws and threw him right into the tub!

Well, there was a ferocious boiling and bubbling and the serpent screamed as if he were dying, and the maid was quite afeared, but soon enough the screaming stopped and the water stilled. And then a shadow rose up out of the tub. And as the steam cleared away, the maid saw to her delight that the Seer had spoken true, and the serpent had been turned back to his true form of the most handsome ferret in all the land.

Of course the two were wed properly the very next morning, and the lost prince - for that is who the serpent was, of course - was welcomed back, and when his mother passed he took the throne, as was his right as the firstborn. And his brother was so happy to have his twin back that they lived happily together for the rest of their days and never ever even tried to kill each other. Imagine that!

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**This one's a bit obscure - the original's called "King Lindorm", and it's an old Swedish fairytale. I was always rather fond of it.**


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